Voldemort and Harry Sitting in a Tree
by milkymilk
Summary: Harry had never thought that the great Lord Voldemort would be such a rapist. Then again, he had also never thought that everyone he knew was insane. Things change. Crack kind of, HPLV.


_Author's Notes_: i'm sorry, i wrote this for my own (minor) amusement. it does include some (minor) sexing, however, if that's enough for anyone to want to continue reading. also i didn't intend to end the story on this note, so i consider this part one in a two-shot, or something like that.  
_Disclaimer: _i don't own harry potter. jk rowling and warner bros and probably a lot of other people have a piece of that. i dont even know why i write this stuff! shrug shrug  
_WARNING_: This story is so deliriously intricate, you might lose your mind in the subtle intricacies. So pay attention. But not too much.

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**Voldemort and Harry, Sitting in a Tree**  
_by milkymilk_

Harry was an insomniac, so he wandered the halls at night. It was just something he did.

On one relatively mundane night, Harry encountered Voldemort as he'd been making his way to the bathroom.

He had urgently needed to pee, and now he was being held at wandpoint by the same dark lord that had been attempting to kill him since he was a baby.

"Voldemort!" Harry gasped.

"That's my name," Voldemort quipped, twirling his wand menacingly towards Harry's throat.

"How did you get into Hogwarts? This is impossible!"

"I know, but this is what happens in fanfiction. So just do what you're told."

"I'll do what I want," snapped Harry, suddenly irritable. Honestly, who did Voldemort think he was?

"Oh pssh," Voldemort said. "It's not all that bad. I mean, I get to try and defeat you this early in the year. Usually I have to wait until the final months of term, and it's only October. What could be greater?"

"Not dying, I should think!" Harry cried. "This is completely unfair!"

Voldemort shrugged.

"Life isn't fair."

Harry was, of course, incensed, and stood akimbo. He snorted, "The only people who say that is those who are privileged enough to not be bothered by it! When was the last time you heard someone with a bloated belly and eight starving children in a poverty-stricken third-world country say such a thing!?"

"Well, they probably don't speak English in third-world countries, so what would they know about our sayings?"

"Enough of this!" Harry announced, finding himself fearless and compelled to push Voldemort away from him by a few feet. "I _really_ have to piss!"

"You _really_ have to do _everything_," muttered the dark lord, looking very pouty at being so easily pushed aside.

"Don't be a baby," Harry said. He turned on his heel and headed off towards the bathroom again. Once relieved, he exited to find Voldemort leaning against the opposite wall, disrupting a disapproving old woman's portrait.

"You're bothering the paintings, Voldemort," Harry informed him.

Voldemort snarled, probably attempting to look just as menacing as ever but failing miserably.

"_You're_ bothering the paintings!" Voldemort shot back.

Harry was very confused. He looked around, but there were not paintings in the immediate vicinity.

"What are you-"

"Quiet!" Voldemort interrupted. "Anyway, I came here to kill you! Come on, Potter, let's fight!"

"What?" Harry yelped. "No! I don't really feel like it tonight. Besides, I left my wand in my dormitory, so we can't fight now."

Voldemort looked like he'd never imagined this scenario, and said, "Oh. Well then... I guess I'll just kill you now."

He raised his wand, lipless mouth ready to form words, but Harry screamed and jumped away.

"No! I'd rather not die more than I'd rather not fight!"

Voldemort paused, perplexed. He pursed his lips.

"Hm... Well, I guess we'll just have to go to your dormitory and retrieve your wand. And then we can duel."

"And then we can duel," Harry repeated, nodding incessantly.

The trek to the Fat Lady took an amazingly short amount of time. One left hand turn and then two rights, and they were there.

"Here we are," Harry said.

"Yes. Here we are," Voldemort said.

They stood there for a few moments, until the Fat Lady got impatient with them and snapped, "What's the password?"

Harry twiddled his thumbs a while longer.

"Well? Get on with it," Voldemort rumbled.

"Fine," sighed Harry dejectedly. "Figgis fiddis."

"Finally," the Fat Lady muttered.

Voldemort entered the common room first, and Harry stayed back for a moment to hiss, "Aren't you supposed to be protecting us or something?"

The Fat Lady sniffed indignantly.

"And risk another Sirius Black incident? I think not!"

Harry glared with all he was worth and went through the portrait hole. He scowled when the portrait snapped closed and slapped him.

"Stupid portraits..." mumbled Harry, rubbing his stinging bottom.

"Stop dawdling," Voldemort scolded, grabbing Harry by the arm. He was prepared to drag him to the boys' dormitory, but then realized he didn't know where to go. "Well?"

"Why are you touching me?" Harry asked, quite shocked by the serpentine man's lack of reservation.

"I'm not merely touching you," Voldemort said, rolling his eyes uncharacteristically, "I'm dominating you. It's all in the grip. You see?"

With this, he squeezed Harry's arm quite harshly.

"Ow!"

"Exactly."

Harry scowled, but proceeded to point at the stairwell that lead to his dormitory.

"Your face will stick that way," Voldemort warned, and then smirked at his cleverness.

Harry groaned and let himself be manhandled up the stairs.

"Can you just shut up?" Harry asked. "I'm going to be dead soon anyway, you could at least quit with your completely unnecessary comments."

"You can't stop me," Voldemort jeered in a childish manner.

"Are you nuts or something?"

Harry shrieked when Voldemort pinched his arm in retaliation and quickly slipped through the door to the boys' dorm. He tip-toed across the bedroom he shared with his year mates and snagged his wand from his bedside table. When he joined up with Voldemort, who had decided to stay by the door, the dark lord gasped, scandalized.

"Look at the condition of your wand!" he whispered dramatically.

Harry raised an eyebrow and shut the door behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "My wand looks just fine."

Harry rolled it from one hand to the other, making sure that, yes, it looked just as it always did.

By the time that they got back down to the common room, Voldemort was squawking like a pigeon, obviously outraged.

"I am outraged!" he declared.

Harry shrugged, nonplussed.

"And look at that nasty greasy stain there! This is just-" Voldemort paused, finally out of words to describe his disgust.

"Fine, look," Harry said, and then vigorously rubbed the wand with his shirt. "Good as new," he said.

"You-You missed a spot." Voldemort's voice sounded shaky. Harry looked at him quizzically, but inspected his wand anyway.

"Oh, yes. You're right." He polished his wand some more. "Doesn't seem to want to come out, does it--Good Merlin, what are you doing!?"

As Harry had been obliviously cleaning his wand, Voldemort had shuffled closer and closer to the boy, and was now pressed close to his back. Harry could feel a distinctive lump near his lower back. He jumped away in terror.

"What the hell was that?"

Voldemort appeared to be sweating, and he wiped at his forehead with his palm.

"I--I, well..."

"Do you have some sort of sick wand fetish or something!?" Harry exclaimed.

"No!" Voldemort cried. "That's just, er, my--"

"God! Well at least we all know you've still retained your--your--your urges." Harry shuddered. "Are you--" he paused. "Are you going to... take care of that?"

Voldemort shrugged.

"Why don't you just worry yourself with... cleaning your wand?"

Harry threw his hands in the air and grunted.

"Disgusting!" he said. "You are _so_ creepy! I thought you wanted to duel, not get off on me touching a _wand_, of all things!"

"Well, I did, but--" Voldemort gulped and wiped at his forehead again. "You have such great tecnique."

"Argh! I give up! Do you want to kill me or not?"

"Well," said Voldemort, "if you were willing to do... _other_ things, I'm sure we could come to a compromise that doesn't involve your untimely but completely deserved death."

"Really?" Harry rolled his eyes patronizingly. "And what would those other things be?"

There was silence for a few moments.

"Um, you see..." Voldemort started, "when a man loves--or at least likes--or is attracted to--another man, they find that they have certain urges which they need to fulfill and--"

"Stop, stop!" cried Harry, jamming his fingers in his ears until Voldemort shut his mouth tightly. "Are you suggesting I have sex with you!?"

"Well, maybe not necessarily--"

"Argh!" Harry said again. "You're insane! And you look like a snake! How could I possibly find that even remotely attractive!? I could never even get it up!"

"We could always just _try_, you know..." Voldemort trailed off.

"No!" Harry said firmly. "Never, ever, _ever_."

"...Ever?"

"Ever!"

Voldemort looked rather upset by the whole thing, but Harry just crossed his arms and stared back determinedly.

"Fine then!" Voldemort finally yelled. "I'm leaving! But I will come back--and you definitely will not like me then as much as you do now!"

The man was gone with a pop.

"You can't apparate in Hogwarts..." mumbled Harry. "Oh, whatever. I don't even care anymore."

He yawned and made his way back to his bed.

"Must have completely lost his marbles," Harry grumbled as he laid himself down between the sheets. "Or maybe I'm just having some sort of terrible nightmare."

Unfortunately for Harry, a few days later Voldemort debuted as promised.

This time Harry was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of warm milk in hopes of finally getting some sleep.

"Potter!" Voldemort announced brusquely, entering the kitchen with much imaginary fanfare.

"Pffffttttt," Harry announced as he spewed a mouthful of milk onto the dark lord.

"Disgusting!" Voldemort shouted. He cast a quick _scourgify_ on his robes and glared at Harry. "They'll never be the same now, you know! These were made from pure virgin wool, for Salazar's sake!"

Harry rolled his eyes and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't be such a whiner," Harry said. "What are you here for, anyhow?"

"I'm here because I said I would be!"

Harry merely stared at him for a few moments.

"That's it," he sighed, "I'm done with you. You're a pathetic excuse for a dark lord."

Harry slammed his glass on the counter and shoved Voldemort out of the way of the portrait hole.

"How dare you!"

Voldemort's face contorted with rage, a look that Harry had always previously associated with the man/snake/thing before his recent appearance in Hogwarts. Somehow Voldemort had managed to retain his capacity to look absolutely ferocious, even if he'd totally cracked up.

"_Crucio_!"

Both were utterly confused when the lick of magic dissipated a few feet from Harry.

Voldemort stared at his wand in befuddlement. "_Crucio_," he said again, this time with more vigor. "_Crucio crucio crucio_!"

But still the curse died out before reaching its target.

"Wow, Voldie," Harry said, feeling courageous and giddy, "looks like you just aren't the same man... snake... thing you used to be. Ha!"

"What IS this?" Voldemort cried, spelling the curse again and again. It caused Harry to burst into laughter.

"Have you lost your magic along with your mind?"

Voldemort ignored Harry's laughter and shook his wand.

"_Lumos_," he said, and the tip of his wand lit up and swathed the both of them in a soft glow. He waved the spell off and tried again. "_Crucio_," and then once more, disparagingly, "_ Crucio_." Nothing at all.

"Impossible!" declared Voldemort, though it was quite obviously happening.

"Hm," Harry commented, "looks like you don't hate me quite as much as you previously did, ey?"

Voldemort snorted.

"Of course I do," he snarled. "There is plainly just something wrong with my wand at the moment."

"Maybe you should _stroke_ it a bit," Harry jeered. "Don't worry, I'll leave you and your... 'wand' alone."

"Silence!" roared Voldemort.

Startled, Harry immediately stilled.

"I am definitely going to kill you now," Voldemort said, "but first..."

Harry squeaked when he was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved face-first against the wall. When he felt Voldemort's fingers at the waistband of his trousers, he twisted around with a shriek.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!? Are you crazy!?"

"Not at all," snarled Voldemort. "But I figure that _I_ am the powerful dark lord here, and _you_ are just a mediocre school-age child. So why shouldn't I be the one doing what I want?"

"Because what _you_ want is insane, you homo--" Harry was cut off as Voldemort turned him around and pressed his face against the wall.

He felt a breeze around his backside all of a sudden, and that caused him to panic.

"Stop this right now!" he shouted. "This is terrible! I'll tell everyone! You'll be caught! I'll scream!"

He could feel Voldemort's suffocating breath on his neck as the man began to speak, and it made his skin crawl.

"You're already screaming, Potter."

Harry grumbled, "What happened to your likeable idiot disposition, huh? With that," and here he coughed, "wand fetish thing?"

"I'm mad, Potter. I'm pretty much allowed to be moody."

And then Voldemort reached around and grabbed at Harry's cock with a painful iron-grip. Harry yelped.

"Be careful, you rapist!"

Harry got a slap on the ass, which only made him grumble more. When he felt a few slippery digits peek within his cheeks, he moaned and smashed his nose on the wall.

It was a very unpleasant affair, Harry decided. Voldemort kept forcing him to keep his butt in the air, apparently to give the man easier access, but it was hell on Harry's muscles.

No one had ever told him sex was such an awkward and painful thing. He seriously doubted the sanity of Dean and Seamus and all the other boys who claimed that sex was the greatest thing to ever grace a young man's life.

And what a way to lose your virginity--to the most horrible Lord Voldemort, mass murderer and dark lord.

"That was... That was just terrible," Harry scowled when it was all over, jerking his trousers back into position and rubbing at his bottom.

"Really?" Voldemort sneered. "Because I found it quite enjoyable."

Harry scowled and rubbed at his leaky nose.

"My ass hurts!" he complained. "I'll never be able to sit again!"

"Oh, stop whining." Voldemort rolled his eyes, much to Harry's surprise.

"Are you bipolar?" Harry cried shrilly. "Schizophrenic!?"

"Nothing of the sort," Voldemort said, waving a hand airily.

"Are-" Harry pause uncertainly. "Are you going to kill me now?"

Voldemort tapped a finger against his scaly lipless mouth in thought.

"No, I don't think so," he said.

"What was the point of all that then?"

"My own pleasure, I suppose."

"You're disgusting!" shrieked Harry. He yanked down his shirt and stamped down the hallway, determined to get as far away from Voldemort as he could.

"I'll be back, Potter!" Voldemort called, and then Harry heard a popping sound.

Harry scowled. Just what he needed.

The weekend after, he and Hermione and Ron went to Hogsmeade just like they usually did. They parted at Honeydukes, Hermione and Ron gone off to giggle and kiss in Madame Puddifoot's, and Harry to walk alone with a blood lollipop (which he had recently discovered was actually quite palatable) stuck in his cheek.

Harry nearly swallowed his lollipop when he passed by the Shrieking Shack and a pair of arms slithered out from the shadowed doorway, dragging him inside. He spluttered a bit, trying to cough out the candy that was lodged in his throat.

"Voldemort!" Harry hacked, finally spitting the lollipop on the moldy carpet.

"Potter," Voldemort intoned calmly.

"Er... Voldemort. What are you doing here? Again?"

"I thought we'd already gone over this." Voldemort grabbed Harry by the hips and forced him closer.

"No thanks," Harry growled, producing a wand from his back pocket. He aimed it at Voldemort's throat. "I couldn't sit for days, and I don't think I'm going to do it again."

"Come on, Potter. It's fun."

"Maybe for you!" Harry said, jumping up and down a little in his excitement. "Snape gave me detention for all of next week because I couldn't stop squirming!"

"Well, I'm sure I could order him to reduce the punishment--"

"And what if someone hears us here!? It'll be the end of me! It would be all over the newspapers! They'd think I'd gone dark!"

"You mean you're not dark?"

Harry choked. "Does it look like I'm off murdering muggles and cavorting with your Death Eaters!?"

"Well, you did let me have my way with you."

"_Let you_!?" Harry screamed, face turning a purple color quite reminiscent of his uncle. "_Let you_!? You _raped _me!"

"Oh, I did not."

"Yes, yes you did!"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Voldemort asked, batting away the trembling wand and white-knuckled hand. "You're a wizard, Potter, not some sniveling muggle. You could have easily warded me off with a few quick hexes."

Harry's mouth opened and closed multiple times before, with a frightening swiftness, his face was drained of all color.

"B-but-" Harry stuttered, "I didn't have my wand."

"Again, you're a wizard_,_ and a powerful one at that. If you had really wanted me to stop, you could have."

Harry's lips fashioned themselves into a thin line and his hands curled into fists.

"I do_ not_ have some secret," Harry gagged, "_yearning_ for you. So just stay away from me!"

When Voldemort tried to grab him as he made to run, Harry slammed him in the face with all the force he could muster and high-tailed it out of the Shack.

"Harry!" Hermione trilled when she caught site of his face later that day. "You look terrible."

"Like a brain-eating, flesh-devouring zombie," Ron added, earning a few queer looks. "What happened?"

Harry frowned tightly and shook his head. "Nothing happened. I'm perfectly fine."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances but said nothing more, instead walking back to the castle with a false cheeriness. Harry seemed stiff the entire night.

"It's not You-Know-Who again, is it?" Ron ventured quietly as he and Harry shuffled into their beds. Harry froze for a moment.

"Nope," he said finally, simply.

He pointedly ignored Ron's questioning until the lights went out and Ron was repeatedly shushed to silence by the other boys.

The next day, Sunday, Harry did nothing but lounge in bed all morning and think about Voldemort. He snapped at the other boys and Hermione, when she finally stopped in to see if he was all right, and he wouldn't answer their questions. It was only when Hermione informed him that she was going to tell Dumbledore on him did Harry come to attention.

"Don't you dare, Hermione!" he warned, grabbing at the hem of Hermione's robes as she jumped out of reach and sprinted from the room. Harry growled and chased after her.

He caught up with her a few corridors away, him huffing and puffing and Hermione looking composed and uncharacteristically smug.

"This is ridiculous," Harry managed.

"So? What's got you so upset?" Hermione asked.

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Of course I won't. Just tell me."

Harry was quiet for a long moment.

"Well?"

"All right," Harry said, pulling Hermione into a convenient alcove. He took a deep breath. "I had sex with Voldemort."

Jaw slack, Hermione stared. And stared. And stared.

"You--You had..."

"Yes."

"And he just--And you-"

"But I didn't do want to!"

"So you were raped... by Lord Voldemort."

"Yes."

Hermione leaned against the wall, face sliding into disapproval. "When? How?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "He got into Hogwarts somehow and well... He's insane. So he just..."

"Wow, Harry. That's very, very disturbing." Hermione was quiet for a long time. "But also sort of interesting. I mean, who would have thought that a man so battered by death and unnatural events could still become aroused. I mean, he was practically a ghost and then being regenerated and yet he still managed to-"

"Yes, Hermione!" Harry interrupted. "Yes, I know. It's all very interesting. I was there."

Eventually, Harry was forced to elaborate and gave Hermione a detailed summary.

"Tell Dumbledore!" Hermione announced when Harry had concluded his tale. "And while you do that, I'll go tell Ron!"

Harry gaped. "What!? No!"

"Yes! Dumbledore's gay, you know--_and_ he had that hot and saucy love affair with Grindlewald. So he's perfect for advice!"

"What the %$U#*$!?!?!?" Harry screamed, only slightly perturbed by the string of punctuation flying from his mouth. This _was_ Hogwarts, after all. "Dumbledore!? With GRINDLEWALD!?"

"Oh yes," Hermione nodded, a pearly smile in place, "didn't you know? It was all the rage to have raunchy relations with your mortal enemy back then--and I read in 'What's What in Weird Wizarding Wanks' that it's likely to come back in style."

Harry was nearly foaming at the mouth in his attempts to assimilate all that awkward information--not to mention the extreme use of alliteration which suddenly seemed to be plaguing him.

"All right," Harry managed, one hand planted on the wall of the alcove in a haphazard fashion. "All right," he repeated.

Hermione nodded encouragingly.

"Dumbledore bonked an evil warlock," Harry started.

"Mhm."

"And so is apparently gay."

"Yes, yes."

"And I should ask him for advice about Voldemort?"

"Of course!"

"And why, exactly, are you going to tell Ron?"

Hermione paused. "Well," she said searchingly, "he _is_ my boyfriend."

Harry sighed, wondering how much more of this impossibility he could take.

"Okay," he muttered concedingly. "I'll go to Dumbledore. Just don't tell Ron!"

Hermione beamed at him and squealed in what appeared to Harry a rather disturbing fashion (considering he'd never before witnessed a Hermionian squeal before). "Yay! And you'll have to let me watch sometime! I couldn't miss the chance to take notes on that Harry-Voldemort interaction!"

Harry shot her a rather frightened look and they squeezed out of the alcove.

They walked back to Gryffindor in relative silence, only punctuated by Harry, asking, "Since when did you care about what's popular nowadays anyway, Hermione?"

"Oh," said the girl lightly, "about the same time I embraced my rampant girliness, became suddenly interested in homosexuals, and decided to never allow you any privacy whatsoever."

"... Oh."

Harry managed to muster up the courage to speak with Dumbledore only after another less-than-inspiring peptalk from Hermione and the promise that she would do his potions homework for the rest of the year, which Hermione grudgingly agreed to.

He'd forgotten to retrieve the password from McGonagall, unfortunately, and since Harry had never really been the brightest of the bunch, he stood in front of the gargoyle shouting candy-mingled obscenities until a teacher finally stumbled upon him. Quite unluckily, that teacher happened to be Snape.

"Snape!" Harry uttered.

Snape's lip twitched unpleasantly and he scowled. "How intelligent, Potter. What, exactly, are you doing here loitering in the halls and screaming at inanimate objects?"

"I'm not loitering!" protested Harry, smartly ignoring the other accusation. "I'm trying to see the headmaster, but the password--"

Snape rolled his eyes, a gesture Harry found quite unnerving and un-Snapely of him.

"Incompetent little..." Snape muttered, brushing Harry aside to get to the gargoyle. "Penis Pizazzers," Snape said, somehow managing a straight face.

Harry goggled for a moment, wondering what ungodly sort of candy "penis pizazzers" were. Shaking the (somewhat terrifying) thought away, he moved to go through the newly-opened passage. Snape swiftly blocked his way.

"Wait, Potter."

Harry frowned, wondering what dastardly things Snape had to say to him now.

"What are you going about wasting the headmaster's _precious_ time with, exactly?"

"It's sort of personal, sir."

"Nonsense," Snape snorted.

"Er... It has to do with Vol-"

Snape held up a hand swiftly, accompanied by a sour expression.

"Is this about the Dark Lord's escapades with your bum, Potter?"

Harry stared. He wanted to scream something, anything, (like "oh Merlin!" or "what the hell?!") but he was struck dumb and silent.

"Oh, please," Snape muttered, rubbing a hand across his ugly mug.

"H-He told you?" Harry finally asked in a tiny voice.

"I _am_ one of the Dark Lord's most trusted confidantes."

Harry didn't know what to say. He was angry and infinitely confused.

Stiffly, he sidled his way past Snape and into the passage, up the stairs, to Dumbledore's office. He knocked woodenly (and then reflected on the obnoxious pun his mind had round up).

"Yes?" A solemn voice exuded from beyond the door. Gathering up the remains of his sanity, Harry trudged inside.

"Harry, my boy!" boomed Dumbledore, standing majestically in front of his desk, clothed in a rather uncouth yellow-orange robe combination, index finger rising pointedly in the air.

"Uh."

"I know, I know," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard and conspicuously swishing his robes about. Harry caught a glance of his strappy maroon pumps. "The lack of Death Eater attacks has got you devastatingly bored, am I right?"

"Not... exactly." Harry shrugged. "Actually, I was hoping for some advice."

"Advice?" Dumbledore queried, looking quite interested. He seated himself behind his desk and gestured for Harry to take the chair in front of it. "On what issue do you require counseling?"

"It has to do with Voldemort."

"Voldemort, you say?"

"Yes, I do say. Er. Well..."

"Well?"

"I had sex with Voldemort."

Dumbledore twirled his beard about his finger and looked upwards in contemplation. "You don't say," he muttered to the ceiling.

Harry turned red and gripped his knees.

"Well… Has he done the honorable thing and asked for your hand yet?"

"Wha-What?" Harry spluttered. "Why would he do that!?"

"Oh Harry," Dumbledore looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sure he'll ask you soon. Tom would never leave you hanging like that. He was always such a nice boy."

Harry stared at the headmaster in total and abject horror. Had _everyone_ lost their minds now!?

"I mean, with the baby and everything, he couldn't just allow you to remain by yourself," Dumbledore continued thoughtfully. "You know, we should just go visit him ourselves and—"

"Wait." Harry interrupted. Dumbledore looked at him in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed he was even in the room. "What baby? What are you even talking about?"

"You _are_ pregnant, aren't you?"

A creeping icy coldness came over Harry and his mouth gaped downwards of its own accord.

"Pregnant? I… No—how could I be _pregnant_?"

"You see, Harry, when a man loves another man-"

"Argh! No!" Harry yelped, covering his ears in his hands and jumping to his feet. "You're all positively bonkers!"

With that, Harry ran out of the room.

And that's how he was admitted to St. Mungo's.

"No!" Harry screeched as he was dragged towards the headmaster's fireplace by two large, white clothed men. "No, no, no! You're taking the wrong bloody person!"

He had been apprehended while taking a piss, and now his pants were around his knees and his boxers had nearly fallen off in the tustle.

"Get better, Harry!" Dumbledore tearfully proclaimed from the sidelines. He waved a handkerchief and then dried his cries on it. "We'll all be waiting for your return!"

"I'm _fine_ you bloody jack-"

Harry's screams were muffled by the rush of green fire as he was floo'd away. He landed in the lobby of St. Mungo's and was rather roughly handled at check-in and room assignment.

"I don't even know _why_ I'm here," he muttered acidically to the nurses who were strapping his limbs to a small hospital cot. "Everyone has just gone insane."

One of the nurses, a rather attractive young blonde, looked at him sympathetically. Harry thought this might just be his chance to play the pity card and get out of there—but then the woman opened her mouth and said, "It's so sad when it happens to such great people, isn't it?"

And all the nurses around her sighed and muttered in agreement. Harry huffed.

He was left alone for some hours, until finally a person in a white coat entered with a clipboard and began mumbling to himself and checking objects around the room.

"Uh, doctor?" Harry proffered.

The man stiffened, and when he whipped around to face Harry, the boy nearly screamed in surprise. Actually, he did scream.

"Voldemort!"

Indeed, it was the infamous Lord Voldemort inside his hospital room.

"That's my name," Voldemort said, chuckling to himself as Harry was hit by a sense of déjà vu.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Harry asked, struggling against the bonds that held him to the bed.

"I'm playing doctor, see?" Voldemort smirked, showing Harry an ID badge that was clipped to his breast pocket. It said "Harrison Gene," and had a picture of a handsome looking blonde man. Harry looked at him with distaste and wrinkled his nose.

"What, did you _kill_ him?"

"Of course not!" Voldemort had the nerve to look offended. "I just tied him up and stole his clothes and hid him in a dumpster."

Harry's cheek twitched.

"Get me out of here you slimy bastard!" he suddenly roared.

"Okay, okay," the Dark Lord said. "No need to get snippy. I came here to bust you out anyway."

"You did?" Harry asked as Voldemort began to undo the straps.

"Of course. I couldn't let the father of my child remain in this nuthouse, could I?"

"Umm. What?"

"Harry," Voldemort said, halting his work to sit at the edge of the bed and stare into Harry's eyes. "Harry… I don't know how to tell you this. But… You're pregnant."

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head and his jaw fell slack.

"I'm sorry I had to tell you this way—I mean I just found out myself, actually, when Dumbledore contacted me this afternoon… Harry? Harry, are you okay?"

Harry was, in fact, not okay. His face had turned bluer than something that was very, very dark blue. He looked like he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Uh, Harry?"

And then he did faint.

When Harry woke up, he found himself on a chaise in the middle of a large, darkened ballroom. The only light came from a dwindling fire in a hearth that resided near him. Harry sat up and looked around quizzically. There was nothing in the room save himself and the chaise.

"What the hell?" Harry rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Where am I?"

A dark, ominous chuckle sounded from the shadows.

"I'm glad you asked…"

"Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Of course, that's when the Dark Lord came prancing out of the shadows in nothing but his birthday suit and a pipe.

"HOLY FUCK," said Harry. He immediately slapped a hand over his eyes and hoped to any deity listening that that image would not be imprinted on his retinas.

"Oh yes," purred Voldemort, taking a choking puff of his pipe. "That's exactly what I had in mind. And not just me…"

It was at this point that Snape and Lucius Malfoy came gliding out of the shadows.

"But my friends, too."

Harry peeked through his fingers and immediately wished he hadn't.

Snape and Malfoy were both clad in nothing but a nun's habit and a sparkly black thong. They had demure looks upon their faces and simultaneously knelt at Voldemort's feet.

"It's… You… I…" Harry stuttered.

"Yes, my dear," Voldemort chuckled eerily, "we're all going to sex your brains out."

Harry stared in horror. This had to be some kind of dream. He leapt to his feet and backed far, far away from the terrible trio that was facing him down.

In a panic, he pinched himself. And woke up!

In a yellow nursery. With Voldemort perched on a white toybox reading a book entitled _Parenting for Dark Lords_. Harry pinched himself again. This time, he didn't wake up.


End file.
